


Simple Rivalries

by megyal



Series: Simple Rivalries [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes, Hush Sound, Panic At The Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2006-07-16
Updated: 2006-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-26 20:58:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[A Little Less Sixteen Candles AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Little Less Rivalry (A Little More Kill Me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to Simple Rivalries.

"Oh god, Patrick," Pete moaned, right into Patrick's hair. "I miss you so much."

Patrick held onto him tightly, joyously. He had let him go once, there was no way he was letting Pete go again. They were lying on the sandy yellow beach, Pete's arms wrapped around him, golden in the sun ( _the sun? Pete...Pete couldn't be in the sun, he couldn't he would die Pete would Pete would die he would_ )

"Patrick. The charm. Fix it." Pete's voice seem to fade, although there was a pressure still on his chest, and Patrick gripped onto this arm tightly. "Please. Fix it...will you miss me?"

There seemed to be a stormy howl of wind, and the sand kicked and danced around them and in one moment Pete was there, and in a swirl of dust he was gone.

**

Patrick would have sat straight up in bed if it wasn't for the arm on his chest pinning him down.

"Patrick." Andy's voice was steady as Patrick grasped with grim desperation onto his forearm. "Patrick. Wake up."

"I'm...I'm awake," Patrick croaked out, now pushing at Andy's arm, and Andy removed it slowly. He was on his side, tucked in close to Patrick, one arm folded underneath himself, the other now drawing back from Patrick's trembling body. He watched Patrick scrub at his face with shaking hands.

"Was it very bad?"

Patrick shook his head and Andy felt a little relief creeping in to battle with constant wrenching in his stomach.

When he had dragged Patrick out of the Beckett manor, a quarter of the Hunters killed ( _and Pete! Pete was gone!_ ) Patrick had been completely numb. They had fled, so far and so deep into the country, back to one of Pete's many hiding-houses, and Andy was surprised to find that Patrick was strong enough to cast a ward over the whole building, just like the alarming-system they had on the warehouse in the city. Patrick was in shock, but he had been answering Andy, slowly but lucidly, and Andy thought it had been alright to put him to bed.

He had snapped awake in Pete's old room, late in the night, to Patrick's screams. He scrambled out, Joe limping out of another door behind him and burst into Patrick's room to find him curled up on the floor, shrieking and Andy wouldn't hear anything but Pete's name, over and over. He knelt on the floor, ignoring a flash of pain in his side where a vampire had sliced at him and gathered up Patrick. Joe knelt too, holding onto both of them by the shoulder, and Patrick let go all his grief and rage into Andy's shoulder, hot tears soaking at the material of the thin cotton shirt, and Andy felt wretched enough to cry himself, _for_ himself, for losing one of his closest friends, for not being _close_ enough to save him. He cried for Patrick too, kneeling there in the dark old house, consumed in anguish. He felt Joe hanging on, and he let one of his arms unwind from around Patrick and draw Joe in, and they mourned together.

Now, after a little over a month, Patrick still awoke, mostly jumping up out of deep sleep, like tonight, which was alright. It was scarier to wake up and find him sobbing helplessly, or even screaming, but those were now rare. Unlike that first week...Andy had barely gotten any sleep in that first week. And even now, Patrick couldn't fall asleep unless Andy was now in the bed with him, and Andy couldn't fall asleep unless _he_ did.

Patrick looked over at Andy and smiled, crookedly in the low lamplight. It was a _very_ hideous smile, ghastly, none of Patrick's original sunny demeanor flowing through it, but it _was_ a smile, nonetheless and Andy returned it cautiously. He watched the smile falter, and then strengthen. _That's it_ , he thought hopefully. _That's it, Patrick, don't give up yet._

"I have to fix it," Patrick said low, and Andy held his breath. "My mother's charm. The family...the charm," he struggled. "I'll fix it. Pete wants me to."

Andy studiously ignored the present tense, which Patrick always used in the night, in the slow aching moments after he woke up.

"He would want me to," Patrick corrected slowly, and then turned into Andy and flung an arm tightly in between them. _He feels just like Pete_ , Patrick thought lethargically. Same size. Same lithe muscular body. _Pete_ , Patrick thought as he began to fall asleep, not realising that his hand was now roaming slowly up and down Andy's bare chest and neck, seeking comfort. He sighed as he felt a hand fold softly over his, interlocking fingers. _Pete_ , he whispered, moving even closer in his slumber, his mouth now pressed against a strong neck, and Andy shuddered slightly underneath his touch and breath and did not move away.

 _How can you_ , he scolded himself. Pete's gone. Patrick is nearly dead himself over it. _How...how can you?_

He looked at the curve of Patrick's cheek, the cheekbone jutting out. Patrick had lost an alarming amount of weight and Andy had just recently gotten him to eat a full meal.

How can you.

 _How can I not?_

**

Travis growled at William, who was lying naked on his back on the large bed, stroking himself languidly. William had told Travis not to move out of that chair until he was told, and this was so deliciously agonising to Travis. Oh yeah, this was all good as he watched William writhe on the soft white sheets, almost as pale as the luxurious material. Travis wondered how much longer he would take this.

One stroke.

Two moans.

Three shivers.

Right, that was enough. He launched himself out of the seat and onto William, grasping a handful of wavy black hair, and William arched underneath his demanding body, snatching at Travis' clothes.

"I thought," William said coldly, in complete opposition to his hands grasping at Travis' heated skin. "I thought I told you to keep in that chair."

"Fuck you," Travis snapped, and William laughed, his slim thighs falling open to give Travis his all, his everything. Only for Travis.

"Fuck me? Please do."

Travis found himself stroking William's high cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs as William clenched around him, so deeply entrenched in every sigh that Beckett sent breathily along the ridge of his shoulder. He kissed William deeply, panting into his mouth as he came and William shook beneath him.

They owned this town.

They owned each other.

As they fell into that deep stupor that seized all vampires when the sun rose, blocked out by William's heavy drapes, Patrick lay miles away in Andy's arms and dreamt about Pete. And revenge.


	2. Simple Rivalries

So it's like this.

Humans think that vampires can't fall in love and well, _technically_ , they sorta can't. They're too calculating. Everything has a motive. Okay, to be even _more_ technical _,_ vampires don't fall in love the way humans do, not with all the butterflies and softness and doe-eyes. They fall into an extremely intense form of constant _want_. And then, they move into eternity with it. Which, technically, beats the human version of love to the dust. Because this is forever.

Unless you get killed by a vampire-hunter or a rival vampire.

Which, _technically_ , isn't forever anymore.

But you get the drift.

Which is sort of a problem for Travis. Would he rather be trapped in the the vampire version of love with Beckett? Or kill (or be killed by) him? Cause either way, this is all fucked up.

***

Travis was staring at the Dandies across the road with cocky confidence. Yeah, they were Ancient Ones...they were stronger and faster. They knew all these little tricks, but Travis had sheer brashness running through his veins where blood once pumped. And _check out_ that head Dandy, the one everyone referred to as William, leaning on a battered old vehicle and...and he was drinking tea.

In the middle of a full-out brawl between no less than four warring factions, that bastard in the fur, suit, and bowler-hat was drinking _tea_. And enjoying himself immensely.

Travis had to hand it to him. He had class. He had power too; Travis could feel it radiating from him all the way across the streetful of battling fangs. William's cool eyes met his and he nodded at him, as if they were in the middle of some fancy dress ball and not instructing their gang-members in a no-holds-barred throwdown. Travis bounced on the balls of his feet lightly. He gave William his best huge threatening grin, and William sipped his tea gently, still peering with composure at him over the rim.

Yep.

He had class.

"Travie," Disashi sidled up to him, nimbly skipping over a few vampire skirmishes. "They're here, man. The hunters just rolled up."

Travis groaned. Those hunters. They were just bad enough to spoil a good territorial war, especially that Pete, who was about as big as a bullfrog, but so _fierce_. The word in the underground was William had turned Pete...which explained why that little shit was too tough to beat. He was almost as strong as William, but less in control. He was still hunting his own kind, though. Well. Maybe it didn't really matter.

Travis turned his head and saw another one of the hunters walking slowly up the sidewalk in his direction, wielding a sword with easy experience and patience. Vampires were falling left and right, and Travis growled, backing away from the human called Andy, (who was almost as bad as Pete), and in the corner of his eye he saw Pete leap towards William, who had apparently just gotten a fresh cup of tea. Disashi grabbed at his arm, and they turned and slunk off into the dark shadows, sliding into another street.

"Split up," Travis barked at Disashi and a couple of others that managed to follow him, and they obeyed quickly, knowing where to go. Travis was meant to be obeyed. That was how they rolled.

Travis found himself strolling quickly past some dark alley, loving the moonlight sliding across his brown skin, when suddenly a slim pale hand flashed out of the darkness and hauled him in. As strong as Travis was, he couldn't escape being pinned against the brick wall.

"Stop struggling," William told him, smiling sinisterly in the dark that a human would never see in, but to a vampire was as clear as day; which didn't explain why Travis didn't sense William in the first place...so this dude was _really_ formidable. Travis went instantly still.

"I thought you were all caught up with Pete," he said to William, who continued to smile, albeit more lightly, the deadly incisors peeking over his bottom lip. William tossed his head with deliberate leisure, the long brown waves falling compliantly back into place.

"Pete. Pete. Such a _favourite_ of mine," purred William, leaning into Travis' space. Travis didn't flinch away and secretly, William was deeply impressed with this. "Too bad he wants to kill me. It's a lucky thing he hasn't learnt the art of glamour yet...he would have been right at my heels."

"And when he does?"

"Then we have a problem. Which would be better for you if you joined me, don't you think?"

"I don't follow. I lead," growled Travis, and shoved suddenly at William, catching him off-guard and pushing him against the opposite wall. William simply laughed in glee as his back was slammed against the red brick.

"Of course!" William suddenly angled his hips forward, and Travis actually gasped as he felt the slim frame press full against him. "Pete was supposed to be my right-hand. I don't know what's preventing him from coming to me...but you. You're almost as strong. I could make you stronger."

Travis couldn't prevent himself from pressing back against him. There was something about William that was unbelievable, that was just so _unquestionable_. William felt like a snake under his hands, all lithe, cool muscle, and all of a sudden Travis never wanted another person so much in his entire life. Not even before he was transformed. And that was a fairly long time.

"Like I said-"

"You're a leader. Like me." William tilted his head a little backwards. "If you were my right-hand though, you'd be with me. Everywhere.... _all_ the time."

Travis looked at him, and then released him slowly, stepping away.

"You would want that." It wasn't a question. William looked at him sidelong.

"I would want that. But since we're on opposing sides, Travie, we'll just have to leave it here, no?"

William began to move away from Travis, deeper into the alley, a tight grin on his face. Travis watched closely as he put the glamour into action, his slim body flickering, fading, and then completely gone. Then his voice whispered suddenly, seemingly somewhere in the vicinity of Travis' left ear:

"But we don't have to leave it _all_ here, Travis. Not if you don't want to."

And then he was completely gone.


	3. Simple Rivalries

So it's like this.

There was such a thing, (before humans forgot how vampires once ruled them; before they relegated vampires to whispered legends in the dark) called a natural vampire. A person born a vampire.

Of course there was such a thing; stop watching so much TV.

This person would more or less grow like a normal human being, as in get older. Go through puberty. Become an adult. Even age, and die like a human...unless....

Unless they tasted blood.

Then they would remain at the age at which they first got their Taste. Bad luck for you if you discovered you were a Natural at seventy-six...you would be strong, of course; forever, of course. But you wouldn't be pretty.

William Beckett was a Natural.

A pretty Natural.

Of course.

His parents, naturals themselves, had made sure he had reached his peak (of prettiness?) and gave him some poor village girl from which to get his Taste. He had been sorry to do it. Not very sorry, but sorry enough.

So there are a few interesting things to note about naturals (get out your pencils):

1) There are few of them left in the world today.

2) There are no new ones being born. Not anymore.

3) Naturals are the purest. Never bitten, but they are the most powerful you can get. If you want to be bitten by a vampire, please make sure it's a natural. You'll absorb some of what makes them the way they are.

4) When they want you, you more than likely will stay wanted. And they can compel you to want them back...easier for them if you sort of did in the first place.

Got that? Good.

Because William was more than ready to compel Travis.

It wasn't going to be too easy. He had been trying a little in the alley, the same amount he used on a few others before, and Travis had managed to pull out of it. Barely, yes, but he had done it. The only person that seemed to be completely repelled by William was Pete. He suspected it had to do with someone his spies said was called Patrick. It was extremely rare, but a vampire could retain some humanity; and yet it had to be a fairly pure force to lock them in that state. Anyway.That was a dead deal and William was ready to move on. He didn't like to waste time.

"Get him," William told Brendon softly as he stood at his window and watched the moonrise and for the first time in probably forever, Brendon looked at him with doubt. William felt the hesitation and turned to stare at him with chilly eyes.

"William...are you sure about this? He's a Thug. Not like us."

"Not like me. I don't care. Get him." William widened his eyes at the still-unsure Brendon. "Don't let me say it again. Go. Get. Him."

Brendon breathed heavily and stepped back, carefully averting his eyes and knowing this was useless because William was good enough to pick whole thoughts out of your head without looking at your face.

"He won't be like Peter," William responded gently to Brendon's unspoken concern. "He's halfway mine already."

***

It took Brendon three tries in two frustrating weeks to get Travis. Three awful, bloody tries, but they finally managed to corner the bastard, distract the rest of the Thugs, and wrap him in rope. Travis cursed poetically, but he was caught like a well-hooked fish, tossed unceremoniously into the limo and transported to the hidden estate. It took about six of them to take him from the underground parking to William's quarters, where he was dumped on the massive bed. A single candle burned on the nightstand.

"Leave us."

Williams voice floated serenely out of nowhere, forcing Brendon and the others out. As soon as they closed the door, Travis began to laugh in scorn, still tied up, his head rolling on the soft covers.

"This is just the worst seduction ever, Beckett. I thought you had more style than this, man."

"Really." William stepped out of the darkness near the edge of the flame's soft light, smiling down at him. "Then I was wrong in thinking you liked it rough, Travis."

Travis tightened his lips and glared at William, who only looked at him with dark eyes. Travis turned his head away from that heavy stare, inhaling deeply.

"I know what you're trying to do, man. It ain't gonna work."

William reached down and began to undo the knots nimbly.

"Oh, I disagree," he said loftily, his slender hands pulling the rope from around Travis' body. "And by the way," he continued as he finally let it fall to the ground and leaned in close. "I wasn't even trying."

Travis moved fast. Nowhere near as fast as William could move, really, but William had been caught unaware because Travis himself hadn't even thought of what he was about to do. He just acted, and there were no stray thoughts for William to pick up on. William simply found himself on his back with Travis straddling him and this long slender knife with the tip pressed against his chest, actually piercing the shirt, vest and undershirt he was in and pricking the skin right over his heart.

Yes. The movies are sort of right in this aspect. One of the surest ways to immobilise a vampire is a stake or knife through the chest. Want them dead? Chop off the head. A little rhyme learnt by hunters everywhere.

"You gotta school your gang on the rudiments of patting-down, Beckett," Travis taunted, and William looked up on him with an unreadable gaze. Instead of answering, however, he wrapped his slim fingers around the hand that Travis was using to grip the knife, and actually pulled. The knife slid in even further, and the pinstripes in the shirt began to bloom in William's blood. What was interesting to both of them, though, was Travis' reaction to this. He snatched his whole arm back, and the knife glittered back out into the air, held by the both of them.

William continued to look at him in that unfathomable manner, his dark hair spread out like a fan on the bed around his face. He began to move the knife they were gripping towards Travis' face, a thin sheen of his blood still clinging to the smooth sliver surface.

"Taste it," he invited gently as the knife was at Travis's lips, and he watched Travis' tongue slide out and run against the narrow flat of the blade. He released his hand and pulled off his shirt and vest, still not breaking the gaze. When he finally removed his undershirt, he lay there, the powerful Beckett, shirtless with a smudge of blood on his pale chest. The great William Beckett, lying under a person who was supposed to be his enemy, an enemy who was armed, and he never felt so sure.

Travis stared down at him and then brought down the knife at a blurry speed.

William didn't even blink as the knife was buried into the mattress beside his head.

He did, however, moan as Travis bent his head down and licked his chest.


	4. Simple Rivalries

So.

It's like this.

Travis' head was spinning.

This was insane.

This was William Beckett and all he could think about was how his own skin contrasted with the expanse of paleness covering William's slender limbs.

All he could think about was those low noises William was making.

Fuck.

Travis was the one causing those noises.

He was watching William's face as he ran his hands down his bare sides, the sharp points of his retracted fangs glinting in the dim light as William's mouth opened slightly. William pressed up into him, and their mouths met, William sucking at his bottom lip greedily. Travis was sure that even though their piercing teeth were sheathed, there would be a bloody taste in his mouth tomorrow night. That wouldn't be a problem. He could deal with that.

The problem is that he was _enjoying_ this shit.

More than was necessary, really.

He pulled away and tried to back off, because this just wasn't _happening_ , and it wasn't _going_ to. He actually sat up, going back to sit on his heels, but that fucker Beckett just came up with him, laughing softly as he locked his arms around Travis' neck.

"Where," William murmured, managing to slide the point of his tongue against Travis's cheekbone at the same time, "do you think you're going?"

" _Out_ of here. Somewhere far away," snapped Travis, trying to resist the urge to run his fingers down the groove of William's spine. By the way William was twisting his torso slowly, invitingly, he was apparently giving in to that urge. Shit.

"You keep fighting this," William remarked, grasping the hem of Travis' shirt and lifting it off too smoothly. "But that doesn't make any sense. You can't beat me in this game, you know."

"The fuck I will," Travis spat, and William kissed him again. Hard. Shit, was he _hard_. William was laughing again and curving into him, and that fucking candle was sputtering low, it was going out and they were left in a peculiar silver midnight that was brushed by the moon.

"Oh. But you won't," William told him with a total lack of worry, and Travis knew he was undoubtedly right.

How William got them both naked was beyond Travis.

But, thankfully, he did it quick.

"What do you want? Tell me now. You'll get it," William promised him as they lay twisting and gasping around each other, Travis actually panting in sheer need.

"I want it all." Was that his voice? He never had to sound like he was begging anybody _anything_ before. William grinned darkly, and Travis realised he understood what it was like to always be obeyed.

"That's the only answer I would have accepted."

***

William's dark eyes were fixed on him the entire time. Travis felt helpless and that was a sensation he hated. He fucking _hated_ it. But he couldn't help it. So he wrapped one hand in William's silky hair and pulled on it, causing him to arch up, moaning. His other hand was actually gripping William by one hip. He felt William's inner thigh slide up his side, and he was actually pressing in further. Deeper. Tighter.

William wasn't blinking.

Slide in.

Travis shut his eyes.

Slide out.

"Look at me."

Travis kept moving, his eyes still shut tightly, hips pistoning faster.

"Open your eyes, Travis. Look at me."

He was being compelled. He struggled to keep his eyes closed, but they fluttered open under their own power. He saw William smiling at him, face pale and eyes hungry, and that was it right there.

Right _there_.

He gasped out as William bent like a bow beneath him, shuddering as well, and it was a lucky thing he was what he _was_ , or he would have died right there.

Travis crumpled himself on top of him, face buried into his neck, and he felt William's hands go into his wild hair, pulling and stroking. Travis managed to find his voice only after a very long time.

"This won't work."

Travis could feel William's chest moving in slow chuckles.

"You've forgotten what I can do. Who I am. If I say so, it is _so_."

Travis raised his head a little and he sneered at William.

"Right. Prove it."

William's tongue slipped out and licked his upper lip.

"So distrustful. Alright, then. I say we get rid of Peter together."

Travis laughed derisively.

"You can't _get_ that fucker....too slick, that bitch."

William's eyes suddenly looked all-pupil, no white showing. Travis shuddered at the force coming from him. And shit, he was hard again.

"Get me the human called Patrick. And it will all fall into place." William tilted his head and a slow smile spread over his face. "But for tonight. Now I tell you what _I_ want."

Travis gave him a long steady stare. William only smiled coolly in return.

"Then spill it," Travis finally gave in, rolling onto his back and bringing William to straddle him. William bent down and whispered in his ear.

"I want it all."


	5. Simple Rivalries

So.

Now it's like this.

Travis was on the roof of an apartment building, actually _lying_ down at the very edge on his back. He looked up at the restless stars and his keen hearing picked up the sounds of the skirmish fifteen floors below. He could actually hear each individual grunt and kick. Amazing.

The Dandies and the Thugs actually worked well together, he mused. Where the Dandies had style and grace, the Thugs had simple brawl tactics. It was enough to drive Pete and all his hunters crazy.  
Maybe even to distraction.

"Of course we work well together," William commented without preamble. He was on his feet beside Travis, his eyes fixed to the east horizon. Travis clamped down thoroughly on his thoughts; he _hated_ it when William did that.

William merely looked down and gave him a soft smile.

"I can do that even if you try and block me, Travis. So don't."

Travis tried anyway. He wasn't too big on taking orders. William came closer and crawled on top of him, crowding him on the ledge. He could feel William's knees pressing into his sides, that long wavy hair brushing his face and cold breath against his neck.

"I can do it easier if you actually _want_ me to," William mumured and his teeth dragged effortllessly across Travis' neck. The fangs were out a little and Travis was sure he had made a cut. He had fed last night, so there was blood in his system, but he wasn't really thinking about that right now. William's hand had snuck between them, palm flat against the muscles of his stomach and sliding down. Down to the waist of his jeans, which were unbuttoned swiftly, and into his boxers. And now the fingers of that invading hand were folding around him smoothly.

Shhhhiiiittt.

William just held onto him, squeezing lightly and looking into his face with a secretive smile.

Oh.  
 _  
Oh._

 _Move your hand. Up and down_ , he thought, and William's hand moved. Up. And down.

Oh.....

 _Squeeze tighter_ , he thought again, moaning a little, and William's hand flexed around him.

Travis was beginning to realise the pros of this mind-reading fuckery, really. This was some good shit.

 _Faster_ , he thought wildly, and William's hand picked up speed. He closed his eyes and gasped, writhing under William's touch, until finally he grabbed onto William's upper arms, brought him down and kissed him roughly, groaning into his mouth as he came.

William gently extricated his hand, and buttoned his jeans with great care; sitting back on Travis' thighs, he fished out a handkerchief out of his breast-pocket, and wiped his long fingers slowly. Travis watched him do this and found it a complete turn-on. Again.

"We'll get to that later," William answered his unspoken thoughts. "Now, its time."

William did that uncanny fading away shit, his weight lifting off stealthily and Travis decided to enter like a star.

He rolled off the roof-ledge.

He landed softly on the pavement below, with a grace that would make cats jealous, and advanced quickly on Pete, who was currently taking on about ten Dandies and Thugs. Pete's face was made up of joyful and vicious concentration, but Travis could see by his stance that he was protecting the human who had the weapon behind him.

There he was.

Patrick.

Travis completely ignored him and went for Pete, grabbing onto his shoulder and spinning him around. He gave Pete two short jabs in the side, and a punch to the chin, which Pete absorbed with great cheer. The hunter brought up his knee and kicked out and up, catching Travis on the neck.  
Travis made sure to back away, and Pete came towards him, grinning crazedly.

Suddenly he reached out and grabbed Pete, bringing him into a monstrous bear-hug. He felt Pete's fists slamming into his sides, and he was barely managing to hang onto Pete as he hollered out in his mind:

 _NOW. Get him NOW, Beckett!_

Pete shoved him off, and there were a few milliseconds where Travis was looking right at his face, which had turned into a mask of shock, and Travis realised that Pete could do that mind-thing too. Maybe not as good as Beckett, but if you were yelling like he had been, then obviously he would have picked it up.

Pete snapped his head around back to where he left Patrick, but it was too far, and far too late. Travis himself just turned and got the hell out of there.

William was now standing behind Patrick on the pavement, that slow smile curling around his lips. He clamped his pale hand on Patrick's shoulder, and began to melt away into nothingness. He could do that of course; carrying another person under the glamour was much harder than just himself, but it could be done.

Pete only met up with damp brick wall by the time he reached where they had been standing.

***

Travis was staring at Beckett in amazement.

Beckett was fucking mad. It wasn't a pretty sight.

His eyes had gone all black again, and his long hair wild and flashing around him as he stormed back and forth in the upper hall. He was cursing in some strange language, and Travis was ready to bet any money that it wasn't any language in use today.

Patrick was tied up, sitting in the chair on a dais at the end of the hall, serenely listening to William's tirade. Travis looked at him closely. Such a cherubic face. What was it about him that got William so upset?

"He's an Untouchable!" shrieked William, and everyone else but Travis and Patrick flinched. Travis didn't know what the fuck William was on about. He grabbed onto William's arm as he passed by and held on to him, feeling him tremble in rage.

"Calm the fuck down."

William stood stock-still, staring at Travis' face. Travis watched the eyes return to normal then saw them go narrow.

"I can't harm him. None of us can. So Pete will come for him, and I won't get to see any of them _suffer_."

Travis looked at Patrick in disbelief. He took out his knife and strolled quickly over where the human sat tied up, bent down and thrust it at his heart.

The knife went.

But only so far.

It suddenly was _stopped_ right before Patick's chest, and he could feel some weird vibration lead from the knife right up to his hand.

There was some sort of...fucking bubble right around him. The more he pushed, the more the knife was being pushed _against_.

"No weapon may be held by a vampire against me," Patrick suddenly mumured, as if he was reciting some verse. His eyes were brilliant sapphires in the gloom. "No fang may pierce my skin."

Travis was creeped the fuck out.

"One human family!" laughed Travis bitterly. "One family, and they could put this charm on us even so _recently_. How dare they...how _dare_ they."

"Yeah. How dare they."

Travis groaned at the sound of this new voice. Shit. Pete had found them. How?

"Patrick called to me, fucker," Pete growled, clambering fully through the window. "And now. I'm gonna fuck you up even more."

William watched coolly as ten, twenty, thirty hunters rappeled into his windows, smashing the precious stained-glass. He made two mental notes: 1) Make them pay for destroying his beautiful windows and 2) Get rid of those vampires who were supposed to be guarding the roof. He tilted his head back, and met Travis' eye.

"Kill them. They're not _all_ Untouchable. Just him."

Travis nodded and went into action. Pete met him immediately in the middle of the hall.

"Hello, Travie," Pete taunted as they exchanged blows. "Why, I didn't know you were Beckett's lapdog now."

Travis slapped him in annoyance, and Pete laughed, backhanding him in return.

"I'm not."

"Yeah? So why are YOU doing the dirty work?"

 _Don't listen to him, Travis._

 _William, he might be right._

 _He's not._

"I am," Pete grunted out as Travis put three short jabs in his ribs. "And you know it."

 _He's trying to compel you to believe him._

"And _he_ isn't?" Pete danced around Travis' suddenly uncertain movements. Pete was tiring him out. Suddenly Pete kicked him in the back of the knee; his kneecap snapped out, and he went down, grimacing. He felt his body trying to knit back the wounded joint (oh the perks of being an eternal) as he watched Pete dash off to untie Patrick, dodging fights and dusty vampiric remains.

And then.

For the first time in his life, Travis had an epiphany.

It was lovely. Really.  
 _  
No weapon can be_ held _by a vampire against me._

There it was. The loophole. There was always a loophole that someone forgot to unravel, and Travis was one hundred percent sure he was right. That's how charms worked. Exacting.

William heard this train of thought loud and clear, and didn't hesitate to climb aboard. He grabbed the short-sword from the mantel beside him, tossed it up and caught it like a javelin. Then he threw it, straight, swift, sure.

Pete heard what Travis thought, too.

He reached Patrick right before the sword did.

And he spun into the path of it.

The sword caught him square in the chest and drove in, the blade going right through and out his back. He staggered to the side and went down to his knees. Patrick was actually screaming. With great effort, Pete grasped the handle and pulled out the blade. He sliced Patrick's bonds and then collapsed onto his back.

His body began to disintegrate from the feet up, but he was smiling sadly at Patrick, who had stumbled out of the chair and grabbed onto him on the floor.

"You-you gotta fix that charm, man. Make sure you're _really_ untouchable..will you..miss me?"

By the time he finished speaking, he was nothing but dust in Patrick's hands.

Patrick didn't get to answer.

****

William was looking out of the window, marvelling at the lights of the city. Who needed the day when the night was twice as bright? And now, all these lights were theirs.

"We own this town," Travis agreed, coming up behind him, and kissing his neck and nipping softly. William leaned back into his body as Travis' restless hands roamed underneath his robe.

"I just wish we hadn't allowed them to escape," William mused, and Travis chuckled.

"What are they going to do, now that Pete is gone?" Travis scoffed. "I mean, Patrick can't fix the charm...can he?"

"He might. Or he might not. Without Pete, he may not have the drive. But the hunters are finished."

He spun around in the circle of Travis' arms and looked at him steadily. He pressed himself against Travis, who simply pressed back. He felt his spine being massaged by Travis, calloused fingers pressing against each ridge. William placed his arms in what was now his most favourite position, right around Travis' neck.

"And now. We have it all."


	6. A Little Less Rivalry (A Little More Kill Me)

Andy tried not to watch Patrick too hard out of the corner of his eye. Andy sighed, and then started over with his set of katas, spinning the specially-weighted katanas around himself absently. Whirl. Pause. Left hand, slice. Right hand, still twirling. His movements were fluid and strong, and the other surviving hunters watched in silent admiration, all kneeling at one end of the large well-lit basement.

There was no other fighter in the Hunters now as efficient as Andy in hand-to-hand combat. The others were good, but they hadn't been training with Pete as long...and this had bestowed on Andy an almost eerie ability to anticipate the moves of most vampires. Come on...practicing with someone as unpredictable as Peter had been? Very good for making one cool and quick.

"Andy," Patrick called softly from the work-desk in the opposing corner, and Andy stopped immediately, holding out his slim swords to Greta, who scrambled up and came for them. He instructed her to go through the four katas again, making sure to remember her stance, before walking slowly over to Patrick.

Patrick looked up at him, his gaze unusually guarded.

"How goes it?" Andy tried to pitch his voice low and soothing, but the hooded look of those blue eyes remained. Andy felt as if Patrick had picked him apart, detail by detail, and had found him lacking. Patrick dropped his eyes, and looked at the large tome open in front of him; the bulky leather-bound book reeked of power.

"I've finally erased the old charm," Patrick said slowly, and then held up his left hand up in the air, as if in supplication. "You'll have to help me bind the new charm to myself."

Andy looked at the pale palm, a little perplexed. Patrick wasn't looking at him, wasn't explaining, until Andy remembered that a binding spell needed the spilt blood of the binder. They had done this before.

He stretched out and took Patrick's palm in his, silently reveling in the smooth warm skin of the back of Patrick's hand against his fingers. There was already an ugly scar of a deep old wound along the lifeline of Patrick's palm and he took his knife from its scabbard and without hesitation re-opened this lesion. Patrick hissed, and then began to whisper low harsh words, and Andy felt a slight crackling sensation in the space all around his friend.

"Right. That's it," Patrick said with a dull matter-of-fact tone, and pulled his hand out of Andy's, fumbling for the first-aid kit beside the book.

"Wait." Andy reached out again and took the bandaging from Patrick, who had been struggling with one hand. "I'll do it. Just, stay still, Patrick. I said I'll do it."

Andy wrapped his hand with graceful speed, and was gratified to get a small smile out of Patrick, who wriggled his fingers to test if the bandage was too tight. Patrick cleared his throat a little.

"Thanks. If it....if I had asked Pete that, he couldn't have done it for me. He might have said he didn't want to hurt me."

"I'd do anything for you, Patrick," Andy said without stopping to think, and then bit his bottom lip in disquiet as Patrick stared at him, then turned away. Andy was busy mentally berating himself, _what a fucking slip_ that _was_ , and so almost didn't hear Patrick's low response.

"I'll keep that in mind."

***

 _"Why is it," Pete had finally asked, nearly one week after he had turned, "that I can still feel? That I still have emotions?"_

 _"We had to do it that way, Pete. The potion only helps with the bloodthirst, but your soul is a different issue...." Patrick started in a sad tone, watching from the armchair as Pete stalked from one side of their bedroom to the other. Pete was extremely pale, the golden hue forever lost, and he was very cold to the touch. But Patrick still touched him. Still wanted to. "I...I bound some of your soul to me. When...while you were dying."_

 _Pete paused in his pacing, his dark eyes fixed on Patrick's bent head_

 _"What? You_ did _that?"_

 _Patrick looked up at him steadily._

 _"I didn't get all of it. But I did what I could. I couldn't let all of you disintegrate into...into.."_

 _"A monster?" Pete finished gently as Patrick got his breathing under control. Patrick nodded._

 _"As long as a part of your soul remains bound here, with me, you won't be completely evil...who you_ are _isn't lost forever...you understand?"_

 _"And what did you do to bind it?"_

 _Patrick held out his hand and Pete grabbed onto it, kneeling on the floor beside Patrick's chair and murmuring in dismay at the cut along Patrick's lifeline. It was very deep, and Pete raised the captured hand and kissed the thumb gently, aroused by the smell of Patrick near his face. Patrick's breath hitched._

 _"It's not much, but I did it. I did it to keep you here with me. That wasn't too much to ask, right, Pete?"_

 _"Oh no," Pete had agreed. "Not too much at all."  
_  
***

"Andy."

"Yes...yes, Patrick."

Andy tried to pull away from Patrick's warm form curled against his and found that his own body had an issue with this. He felt Patrick's steady breathing against his neck and chest, and wondered what Patrick's response would be if he told him he would love to stay like this for as long as he could.

"Would you do something for me?"

 _Anything_. But Andy bit around that word. He had already said it once, and that was one time too much. Instead: "What is it?"

"Could you get me a vampire? Unharmed, to test the charm...could you do that for me?"

 _Anything for you_.

***

 _What would you do to get back the one you love_? The voice in Patrick's head was his own, but it was chilly and dark. _What would you do_?

 _Anything. Oh God, I would do anything._

 _Would you...sacrifice a friend_?

Patrick looked at Andy across the basement as Andy forced the young snarling vampire to throw a knife at him. He closed his eyes, unworried as the weapon simply veered away just inches from his face, and sunk into the wall beside his head. He didn't reopen them to watch Andy dispatch quickly of the vampire, only hearing the sharp sandy sound of a vampiric death. He finally allowed his eyelids to slide up and Andy's were fixed on his, ignoring the low celebratory mutters of Joe and the other hunters. There was a naked flash of something in Andy's face before he covered it with his usual stoic look, and turned to say something to Joe.

Anything. Anything.

 _That is too much to ask_.

 _You want Pete_. This voice in his head was frigid, unyielding, and yet it was his own.

 _But will you do this to a friend_? Another voice wailed in agony, still his, so conflicted.

Was it really too much to ask?

Andy was closest now, emotionally, to Patrick. And Andy had said...he said he would do anything for Patrick.

***

The time was finally right. One half-year, precisely, since Pete's body was returned to the earth, dust to dust.

 _No, please don't, not to him_ , a part of Patrick begged feverishly before it was smothered, muffled cruelly, being shoved out and away. Before it was, though, it left with one last piercing entreaty: _You_ know _already! You know how he feels!_

 _That is why it will work...and I know how_ I _feel. I know what I want._

He was wrapped up as usual with Andy, the lamplight low on the bed-table beside the bed. He arched his body forward slightly, experimentally, and Andy awoke without prelude.

"Patrick?"

Patrick didn't say anything in return. He took Andy's hand from where it had lain comfortingly on his hip and pressed it against his own cheek, feeling the fingers tremble, and his heart faltered. Then then it hardened, ruthless.

 _I know what I have to do._

He murmured a little, and Andy frowned, not hearing, not understanding the words that suddenly made the air around Patrick shift and then become still, yet heavy with anticipation.

"Patrick-"

Patrick squeezed at the hand around his face and then moved more against Andy, only minutely registering his arousal. He kept his eyes on Andy's, which were filled with uncertainty and need.

"Patrick. What...wait. I don't think we should, not like this...Patrick, please.."

Andy's feeble protests were nothing against Patrick's gleaming eyes, and he sighed willingly as Patrick bent forward, and pressed their mouths together. Andy moaned and wrapped his arms longingly around Patrick's waist, pulling him closer, and Patrick hesitated.

But only for a moment.

Patrick inhaled and exhaled slowly; then released what he had left of Pete.

Andy's whole frame stiffened, grunting, but Patrick continued to kiss him, and Andy began respond again. The kiss became deeper, harder, familiar, running into well-known grooves and Patrick broke it, panting and hoping.

He pulled back and looked into Andy's face. His eyes were closed so tight, and Patrick nuzzled his scruffy cheek helplessly.

Andy moved slightly, and his eyes fluttered open. Instead of the clear green-grey, they were tinged almost to the iris with hazel.

"Hey, Panda," Patrick said, softly using the memorable code that only he and one other person would know the proper answer to.

"Hey, Tricky-baby," Pete answered correctly, in Andy's voice.

*

William paused.

"What is it?" Travis let go of the hapless human they had been feeding on, pushing the limp body out of the bed unceremoniously. William frowned, kneeling up and closing his eyes, rubbing his fingertips against his cool brow. Travis took hold of his wrist and pulled his hands away. He lay back on the bed, bringing William with him until he lay sprawled over Travis.

"Something. Someone is-" William cut off, frowning even more. Then he shook his head, his hair tickling against Travis' bare chest. "I've lost it. There seemed to be...I can't explain it. But something."

"Nothing to worry about, right?" Travis said lightly, and William stretched sensually against him.

"Against you and I? I highly doubt it."

Travis tried to ignore the faint note of concern in William's tone as they moved slowly against each other.


	7. A Little Less Rivalry (A Little More Kill Me)

Andy.

Andy is alone in the darkness.

But the darkness is warm and familiar, like a coffee-cup he is used to drinking out of. It presses around him, supporting him, locking him in and out. He seems to have no memory

( _Patrick_ )

of what has happened. Has anything happened? He knows his name, and that is all he knows but there seems to be something

( _Patrick how did I_ )

else. Something important. Does it matter? Where is he? What is he supposed to be doing? Who are his

( _Pete_ )

friends.

His friends. His fucking friends, fuck, _fuck_ , what has Patrick _done_?

The darkness around him flares into red and for the first time in Andy's life he can literally feel the broken shards of his heart press sharply out, and change into bitter hurt and how _could_ he? How could Patrick _do_ this to him?

Andy.

Andy is alone in the crimson pulse, but he begins to fight.

*

Patrick watched Andy smile, the curve brilliant and toothy in the dim half-light that was shadow struggling against lamp. That wasn't the way Andy smiled at all. Patrick had seen Andy smile at him, more than enough to know that Andy mostly refrained from showing teeth, just the press of thin lips together and a lit slant of eyes. Patrick knew Andy's smile, maybe a little too well.

This smile...that was the way _Pete_ smiled, and that was all. It was Pete's lopsided cocky grin, slow and sure, the one he used to make Patrick flush and _oh_. Pete was here.

But. Andy. Oh, _Andy_.

"Patrick." Pete stretched luxuriously in the small low bed in which Andy had comforted him in, many a night, the soft sharp smell of Andy rolling into Patrick's nostrils as Pete scrunched up against him, not yet noting the wavy fall of unfamiliar brown hair around his face, or the wrong ink in the wrong place. "Dude, what time is practice again? Call Charlie, maybe he might know."

No. No...this. _Shit_. Patrick tried to control his breathing, clutching at the soft cotton sheet, the rush of his mistake roaring under his skin. He rolled onto his back, looking at the dark polished wood of the ceiling, a round warm-yellow circle reflected in it from the lamp.

This Pete was the wrong Pete. It's the right Pete, yes, but _incomplete_. This Pete was made up of memories from _before_ his turning. This Pete knew nothing about vampires and stakes and William Beckett, a Natural vampire strong enough to pick up on the signature of a soul. This Pete only knew the tuning of a bass, the screams of a show. He had no recollection of a city overthrown, of a war.

Because (it dawned on Patrick, so very, very late, and how could he not see this happen?) to _this_ Pete, to this set of memories, this part of a soul that Patrick so desperately clutched close to himself, these things have not happened as yet.

But should it matter?

 _You know it does.You_ know.

"Patrick? What's wrong?" Pete reached out for him with Andy's colourful arms and then stopped. Looked at them in confused wonder, the mouth falling open in shocked awe. He sat straight up, unfurling the fingers and then splaying them wide in front of his eyes, trembling. "Patrick. What...what is this?"

Before Patrick could open his mouth, Pete pressed those hands to the face, and the slim frame began to tremble against Patrick, increasing until it became an all-out shudder. Patrick sat up himself and grabbed at the wrists, pulling them away until the shivering subsided.

The eyes opened and Andy glared at him.  
 _Andy_.

Andy flung him away abruptly, and Patrick felt the back of his head collide with the bedhead. Andy kneeled up slowly, his face to Patrick the way he always presented his face to an enemy, his eyes glittering with pain and anger, and Patrick could literally _feel_ the hurt resentment pouring off him.

"You son of a bitch." Andy's voice strove for a flat tone, but Patrick could hear a tremor laced through it. Oh god. What did he _do_? "You fucking _bastard_. You...you would have killed me for him."

There was that frightening shiver again as Andy tried to back up off the bed, keeling dangerously as he attempted to move away from Patrick, and he noted with a faint sort of slipping horror that Andy's eyes began to shift from colour to colour until Andy finally slid his eyelids shut, wrapping his arms around himself and doubling over into a quaking ball. He finally curled back up, his lips a white gash in a pale face, and reopened his eyes.

Still Andy, and Patrick suddenly realised what a fight Andy was putting up. Two souls in one body and Andy was back in control.

"Andy-"

"Shut up. Just shut your mouth. I don't want to hear you."

Andy backed away from him, his fingers clutching against his palms as he stood up from the bed and looked at Patrick.

"You say you're a hunter." Andy's voice had never been this cold to him before, and Patrick shivered under the wintry words, ashamed and exposed. "You're supposed to protect lives. Instead....instead, _this_. You're no better than a vampire."

Patrick turned his head away, his head throbbing, squeezing his eyes shut out of sullen desperation. Andy wouldn't understand. He never loved the way he and Pete loved.

"I loved you, and you didn't know," Andy said next, flat and unhappy and Patrick snapped his head back around, genuinely shocked at these words. "You didn't see it, I _know_ now, because you were so fucking busy dying with Pete." Andy shook his head, staggering backwards to the door as Patrick tried to struggle across the bed to him.

Patrick reached a hand across the increasing space between them, words failing him miserably. What could anyone say to such a thing as this?

Andy was simply standing there, staring at Patrick's pale hand. His body shook slightly, pressured by the psychic weight of Pete struggling to regain dominance. Typical Pete. He was so busy trying to repress Pete's questioning, panicking presence pressing against the back of his mind, his vison wavering a little, that he didn't notice Patrick's hands ghosting over his chest. He yanked himself away, seeing Patrick's mouth starting to open as if in slow-motion, and he didn't want to hear it, he didn't want to hear that worthless _shit_ , they were supposed to be...Patrick was...and then his brittle self-control _snapped_.

He lurched forward clumsily, his movements made uncharacteristically sluggish, his grip around Patrick's neck loose and desperate, but tightening in rage.

"How would you _feel_?" he yelled into Patrick's misery-filled face, not crying because _Andy_ didn't _cry_ for things like this, only when Pete had died, that was the first time he had cried in _years_ , but he wouldn't cry over heartbreak, no, he fucking _wouldn't_ , but there were the tears anyway at the corners of his eyes and shimmering bright in Patrick's eyelashes as well and just why was _he_ crying anyway? "If I took something from you without even asking, your whole body, your fucking _soul_ , Patrick, how would you _feel_?!"

And he could feel Pete begin to rear up in his mind, begin to wrest control over his hands and feet, and the crimson pulse throbbed around his vision as he heard Pete's voice, worried and calm at the same time.

 _Andy. Please. Let him go. Please._

 _Fuck you!_

 _Andy. Let him go._

Andy fled back into the darkness, deeply afraid of his own helpless wrath.

*

"I can feel him," murmured William coolly as Travis traced a slow mocha finger down the slight hillocks of William's spine. They stood at the window best for viewing the lights of the city in their default position, Travis' solid frame pressed against the back of William's, one hand resting possesively on Beckett's hip, Travis' chin tucked into the surprisingly comfortable nook of his neck. William was bristling, and it was only Travis' steady presence that kept him at this level. For now.

Travis considered stealing one of his hands into William's loose pants and then decided against it. When Beckett was finished with this crazy rant, he would make a go for it.

"It's not a crazy rant," William said smoothly, a slightly exasperated current bubbling underneath his words, his body undulating a little against Travis, calling forth his arousal. "Its _Peter_. Different and yet the same. I can just feel him. I can almost...almost pin him _down_ , like a compass."

"Pete's dead, Beckett," Travis commented before sucking gently on William's neck, and releasing the chilly flesh with a small pop of his lips. "I don't know if you remember? You throwing the spear? Him stepping into it like the fool he was?"

"I seem to recall that quite clearly." William tilted his head slowly, giving Travis allowance to press slow deliberate kisses up the chord of his neck, inhaling sharply as Travis nibbled on his earlobe. "That...that doesn't change what I sense."

Travis shifted and then bit the top of William's spine, at the back of his neck, right where he liked it and was pleased to hear him moan softly.

"Tell you what, Beckett. We follow your little feelings and see what we see." Travis felt him nod slowly and grinned, turning William around and pressing him against the glass. He placed one of his thighs between Beckett's legs, and bit his lips and Beckett arched his hips forward, pressing them tightly against each other. Travis placed his hands against the glass on either side of William's head and kissed him fiercely, and William groaned even more, now in displeasure as Travis pulled back slightly. Beckett grinned ferally, his dark eyes fixed on Travis' reddened mouth.

"That sounds fine. Tomorrow night, then. We see what we see."


	8. A Little Less Rivalry (A Little More Kill Me)

_I don't understand. Any of it._

 _You can. You will._

 _Why did he do this?_

 _Because he loves you. More than anything._

 _You could have killed him...choked him._

 _....he hurt me. He hurt me...more than anything._

 _*_

 __Patrick stood still by the door and watched Andy sleep on his bed, his body going through slight twitches, and turned his head away from Joe's heavy accusing gaze. Greta's eyes were softer, but no less full of surprised, sad weight, and they all three were distracted as Andy groaned and arched up off the bed, shivering. They watched as Andy's eyes fluttered open, and Greta inhaled sharply, noticing the hazel colour.

 _"Pete,"_ she whispered, her voice hoarse with belief. She sat beside him on the bed and took his hand, literally snatching at it. He reached up with his other and tugged on the sleeve of her pink frilly dress, grinning a little.

"Hello, pretty," he chuckled, and Greta smiled a little tearily at this sweet name all the boys used before this terrible war. Pete's fingers clenched at the sleeve, wrinkling the cotton. "Andy is real mad."

"I can imagine," Greta replied softly, not looking at Patrick. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Patrick hug himself, rubbing his arms restlessly.

"I'm...going through his memories. He's letting me." Pete's voice was steady, projecting firmly through Andy's vocal chords. The pitch was wrong, but the tone was definable Wentz. "What the _fuck,_ Joe? I was a _vampire_?"

"God, you were the _worst_ ," Joe tried to say lightly, sitting behind Greta and resting his chin on her shoulder. "You were so fucking stubborn, man. But you and us Hunters? We were the best."

Pete inhaled in smooth measures, still so comfortable on his back. He stared at the wooden ceiling.

"But now I'm dead."

Greta frowned, the corners of her mouth turning down slowly as she squeezed Pete's ( _Andy this is Andy too don't forget_ ) hand, the skin chilly then feverish under her sweaty palm.

"No," Patrick said, his voice flat. "You're _not_ dead. You're _here_."

"Jesus, Patrick, he was a vampire!" Joe exploded. "He was practically dead before! He was almost gone even then, admit it!"

"But I kept him here!" Patrick yelled back in mulish desperation, coming forward a little, his hands opening in supplication. "I kept him here...fuck! Don't I get to keep him?"

Pete closed his eyes, as if in deep weariness, and when the eyes opened again they were of Andy's cool shade.

"Not everything you _want,_ you _get_ , Patrick," Andy lectured chillingly, making to sit up. He pushed away Greta's reaching hands irritably, and then swayed a little, pressing his face in his hands and shaking his head.

"What is it?" Greta put her small hands on his bare shoulders, and Andy scowled.

"I felt, like a pull. Like someone touched me, in my head."

"Dude, you got Pete in there-" Joe started, rolling his eyes a little, but Andy waved one hand dismissively. One eye swirled into brown and Joe considered himself officially creeped the fuck out.

"Its like... _shit_ ," Pete said slowly as the other eye joined its partner. "Its like somebody is _pinging_ me. Like on a radar?"

Greta blanched as Joe swore.

"Oh, _shit._ Beckett."

*  
Travis sat with William in the back of the pitch-black-tinted limo, rolling sedately along the too-bright streets of the city that gave way to the brush-lined highway, dark silent green in the moonlight. Beckett had been murmuring directions, while Travis checked behind them now and again to see if the rest of their force was following closely.

"Its straight ahead now, for awhile," William drawled at Brendon, who was driving. "We have a few days between us and them."

"And if they run?" Brendon snarled low, to which William laughed in dark delight, lightly resting his finger to the button that controlled the partition window.

"Then we chase them down and destroy them all. I will not have this band of rats ruin all my chances of fun."

He pressed the button and the partition slid up, dark and shiny between them and Brendon. William gave Travis a sidelong look, to which Travis responded with a sly grin and raised eyebrows beneath his wild hair. Travis had his arms stretched across the back of the seat, the lush material red against that chocolate skin that William never got tired of tasting. Travis made no move at all as William unfurled his delicate limbs and draped himself over Travis, straddling his lap and rolling the tips of his fingers along Travis' arms.

 _"Our_ fun," William muttered, reaching up Travis' shirt and stroking his sides. Travis didn't move, just reveled in the feel of William's tongue slicking a hot path from under one ear, across his neck past his jumping Adam's apple to the other sensitive ear. "If it _is_ Peter, then he is with his precious hunters."

"You sure he's not as strong? He used to be, once upon a time, remember?" Travis breathed out, finally moving his arms to pull off William's neat shirt, disregarding the buttons completely, and pulling off his own casual t-shirt. He grabbed onto William's wrists, squeezing them tightly up in his rough hands, and William ground down into him mercilessly.

"It's different. Weaker, like he was before he turned. But it's the same," William smirked as Travis held onto him and spun him over onto his back in the wide limo seat. He pulled off the rest of their clothes roughly, in time to William's smug chuckling, aching to break that laugh, to listen to his voice hitch and plead. William would plead for Travis, oh yes. All the time. Everytime.

"Then that's good for us," Travis commented blandly as he brushed William's dark wavy hair from his pale face, the move grossly tender. William smiled, sweetly, and arched up into Travis, his hands pressed in between them, palms flat on Travis' chest and caressing lightly.

" _That's_ work. _This_ is good. So..." William trailed off, his grin sharp and needful. "What are you waiting for? Take me. I'm yours."

"Yes, boss," Travis muttered, and obeyed.

*

Andy told Greta and Joe to tell the other hunters to get ready. There would be no fleeing, not this time. Last Stand and all. He would soon be down to push them through some practice moves, maybe a little meditation, and Patrick was ordered to out as well, when Greta and Joe rushed away. Go...make some weird charms or something.

Andy pointedly ignored Patrick still hovering as he sat on the bed and took one of the swords that Greta had brought up to him. He ran a soft white cloth slowly over the blade, and was reaching for the small pot of the protective _choji_ oil to lightly re-coat the silvered surface when Patrick's hand settled on his.

"I'm sorry, Andy," Patrick said, in a low slow voice, and Andy refrained from flicking that smooth pale hand off his. " _Please_. Can I talk to Pete?"

"Sure, whatever," Andy said acidly, and withdrew into his own fucking mind, a surprisingly painful process, like a full-body migraine. He could sense the brush of Pete's presence past him and instead of closing himself off, just as Pete would, he kept looking at the outside, staring as though from a distant balcony onto a private stage; through his own eyes, so near to Patrick's face, now moving closer. He saw his hands reach out and cup the curves of Patrick's jaw and felt harshly unfettered to see Patrick turn his face and press his mouth into the palm of one of his own hands; but he didn't feel it. _Pete_ would.

He could hear them talking, muffled as if it was coming from behind a closed door.

"Andy...he feels pretty strongly about you."

 _Shit._

"I...I know."

 _Oh, shit._

"I can't stay here like this, Tricky-baby. I'm tired," Pete said, his words slurring slightly. "I...my time was up a long time ago. I just want to sleep."

Patrick's eyes were closing, the wet blue sheen hidden.

"Its because you're not a complete soul," Patrick choked out and Andy pulled back even a little more into the dark smooth corners of his mind, still listening. "His is stronger than yours is now...and it's his body, anyway." This last was given out in a bitter whisper and Pete leaned forward and kissed him. Andy was gathering the strength to lock himself away, now, before they moved on to other activities, when he felt Pete retreat suddenly and literally _shove_ Andy forward.  
 _  
I think I have to go again, soon. I want you to take care of him for me._

As Andy felt his own body tingle to his awareness around him again, he found Patrick's mouth pressed against his, warm and desperate. He pondered twisting away his face, but Patrick's hand was pressed gently on the back of his neck, carding through the hair at the nape of his neck comfortingly. Andy opened his mouth to take a deep sighing breath, and Patrick tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue slipping in to tentatively to explore Andy's mouth. Andy finally pulled away with great difficulty, his hands resting on Patrick's shoulders.

"It's me. Okay? Not Pete." He stepped back, trying not to stare too much at Patrick's mouth, full and red and begging to be kissed again. He sat down heavily back on the bed, taking up his katana and his small container of oil.

"I was aware of that," Patrick said, his voice a sweet murmur. "I can tell the difference."

" _Really_. I suppose he's better," Andy bit out as Patrick made his way to the door; he paused at Andy's words, hand on the edge of the door.

"Not better. _Different_ ," Patrick explained. "I...I just wanted to hear him again. But that...that was too much to ask."

"Yeah, you think?" Andy snapped, putting down one katana with deliberate care and picking up the other. "Some things are too much to ask, even of a friend. And sometimes, you need to learn to let the fuck go."

There was a short pained silence as Andy continued his ministrations.

"You're right," Patrick said, a little stiffly and went out the door, shutting it softly.

 _Take care of him for me._

 _Alright! Fuck it. I will._


	9. A Little Less Rivalry (A Little More Kill Me)

_Planning my attack just before you come back around  
Maybe I'm wrong but I don’t know how to back down...   
-A Thousand Julys_, Third Eye Blind.

When Patrick was five years old, his mother taught him thirty-four different cat's cradles. His favourites to do were the river, the fisherman and the salmon; the dolphins; and the _Kiribat_ , Mr.Spider.

When Patrick was ten years old, his mother told him what the cat's cradles _really_ were: methods of focussing energy and using them to create charms. They weren't typical vampire-slayers, not of the stake-and-sword variety, but the family could hold its own in battle, she supposed. She also supposed that his undying love for music wouldn't interfere with the work they would have to do.

When Patrick was fifteen years old, he met Pete. For awhile he was deliriously happy, and it was all too easy to put his true purpose in the unhurried recesses of his mind as they performed in small venues.

When Patrick was eighteen years old he almost lost Pete to Beckett. He had had to perform a particularly nasty blood-charm to hold onto Pete, and it was enough, and not quite enough at the same time.

Now Patrick was at the work-table that was not his (his was still back in the city, and how he _hated_ that fact), meticulously preparing some new charms he had developed, new cradles to execute, until his fingers were weak and stripped, self-inflicted punishment into the charcoaled hours of the morning. It was really quite simple, if you knew where to draw the power from and how to convert it.

Whenever he completed a cradle, he would whisper the activating spell, watching grimly as a brightly lit ball would form around the string, crackling solidly and hovering with sedate flickers as he would withdraw his fingers with care. He had quite a pile of the ordinary blue cyclone ones, but the ones which he himself developed were of other colours. There was a set in sharp green: targeting charms. Once released, it would attach itself to a vampire's chest, and any stake thrown would unerringly find its way to that spot, tuned in almost magnetically to the charm.

But he had only one of the yellow type, because the cradle-movements he had needed to create it were so horrifyingly complex, and had taken such a vast amount of energy out of himself and his surroundings to create, that he knew he could not do it again, at least, not anytime soon. It was their last-resort weapon, and he wasn't even sure if it was going to work. Oh, his calculations _looked_ alright, but he was suffused with uncertainty. It seemed like a lot of things he was unsure about nowadays, and Patrick shifted his gaze up to watch Andy argue with Pete, looking absolutely crazy to the rest of the hunters. Apparently, Pete wanted to learn (again) and help. Andy just wanted him to keep quiet.

"Just shut up," Andy snapped to no-one in particular as the Hunters watched curiously, his body trembling, knuckles white against the black handles of his katanas. "Keep out of the way, please, and maybe we can survive this. Okay?" He paused and then the tremors ceased; Pete had acquiesced, but if Patrick knew Pete at all, he had not done so gracefully. Patrick allowed a smile to ghost his lips, and when Andy turned in exhaustion to look at him, he tentatively made the smile a little wider. Andy stared at him for a long moment, and then shook his head and gave a small dry amused huff. It wasn't much, for Andy.  
But for Patrick, it seemed to be a start.

*

When William Beckett was three hundred and fifty-six years old, he had been informed of the Stumph family and their stupid habit of creating quite effective charms. He had ordered most of them killed, but one branch had managed to completely escape his reach, and he had wrongly thought that they would not have had the gall to counter him.

When William was five hundred and three years old, he had seen a human named Peter perform in a dinky Knights of Columbus hall ( _Knights_! Pah!), and had wanted him so badly, he could literally _taste_ him. He had gotten to him too, but had not reckoned the unbelievably disgusting odds that a Stumph would have been present to lock him from Beckett's lure. William had been so upset, that he had turned over the limo, and torn apart quite a few humans. Pete should have been _his_. This was a stain on the Beckett pride, and he would wipe it clean with the blood of the Hunters. Every last one of them.

Now at five hundred and eight, he had Travis, almost as good and oh my, _here_ was the house from which emanated the weak signal that was unmistakably Pete, the surrounding woodland darkly quiet in the bright light of the full moon. "Are they all ready?" His voice was steady, but he knew Travis would pick up on the undercurrent of excitement; Travis grinned at him, teeth gleaming in the gloom of the limo.

"We were _born_ ready," Travis pointed out and William actually cackled before he kissed Travis firmly .

*

"Are we ready?" Andy was asking as the alarm-wards went off, and Pete, in the protected corners of his mind, sensed the tense thread that was running throughout Andy. He also knew it didn't show on Andy's face, which was probably arranged into the cool mask that Pete had always known, and suddenly he felt a deep sense of indignation that he couldn't do _anything_. He was helpless.

"We were born ready." Pete heard Patrick's quiet voice through Andy's ears, and they both smiled dourly.

*

It took quite a lot to shock Beckett, but tonight seemed to a night of surprises. When they had finally pushed through an almost unyielding barrier, feeling as if they were walking through molasses, they were all finally lined up about thirty feet from the house, with its large wrap-around porch; he had been contemplating sending for a cup of tea, when the front door had opened, and the despicable human with the long hair and the calm smell and the _swords_ walked out, flanked by the Stumph, and about four others. He felt Travis looking at him, wondering where the rest of them were, and then Beckett gave a sharp inhale.

 _Pete_.

His fucking psychic signature. It was pulsing weakly from the sword-bearing human, and William snarled.

"I don't know _how_ they did it," he told Travis sharply, and gestured disparagingly at the human with the Pete-vibe. "But they placed Pete inside _that_ one."

"Oh? I suppose we'll have to carve that fucker out, right?" Travis commented archly, and William was amused beyond measure. And then his grin grew even wider as the young Stumph stepped forward, directly in front of the sword-wielder.

Before anyone could move, though, a set of bright glowing green spheres rose from behind the pale human, and shot towards them, latching onto some of the vampires. He and Travis dodged some easily, and sneered as nothing happened.

"What are these, foolish ones?!" He yelled mockingly, and Stumph glared at him.

"Bull’s-eyes," he replied slowly, and there was a cacophony as Hunters, concealed from sight and fucking _smell_ in the trees proceeded to hurl stakes. William would have thought that the angles would have been wrong, but the stakes, instead of thunking into the ground, spun and twisted, and each of them found their mark unerringly, right into the chests of the tagged vampires, reducing them to sharp puffs of dust.

That was an incredible first-strike.

Also, it was a fucking _ambush_ , and Beckett was _livid_.

He moved forward quickly, dodging the now blue spheres that exploded into tiny thin tornados all around them, and grabbed impatiently at a Hunter as they jumped down at him, hurling them back into the thick trunk of a tree, having no time to savour the destructive sounds coming from around him as his and Travis' vampires began to fight back. He went as fast as he could, blur-quick up the wooden steps, and stopped right in front of the Stumph, unthinkingly reaching for him, teeth bared.

There was a blade pressing towards his throat suddenly, and William saw the sword-carrier out of the corner of his eye, still standing close behind the charm-caster; he flinched back, clutching at the flat of the blade tightly with the claws that had appeared on instinct at his fingertips. William wrenched it forward, with all his formidable strength, trying to use it to slice at the charmer and in a flash, another sword appeared to block it, so that now the sword-wielder was standing with his arms around the Stumph, swords crossed in front of them both protectively.

William snarled, and pressed the crossed blades even further in, but that fucking protective _bubble_ around that fucking Stumph flared to life, and William was pressing in vain. William roared in anger, and then changed tactic so fast that he himself could barely register what he was doing. He ignored the pain in his palm as he grabbed onto one sword-blade and flung his arm out, so that the swordsman spun from behind the charmer, tumbling out into the embattled yard. William darted after him, claws impossibly long now, creating sparks as they clashed with the swords, his normally handsome face twisted; but this human was quick, dodging most of William's slashes with a sort of fluid ease. William was _not_ having the best of nights.

*

Andy's brain was in automatic mode. He and Pete had sparred countless times, but William was much faster than Pete had ever been and Andy had to take his training and mix it with his adrenaline-driven instincts. Even so, Beckett managed to score his skin more than once, and in the midst of the pain, Pete was clamouring in the back of his mind, pushing him, _powering_ him. It was almost like the sheer will of Pete's character was giving him extra fuel, and he was using it as fast as Pete could supply it. He could see Greta as he whirled; she was fighting desperately with Brendon, and he saw Patrick throwing his charms and this could be it they might win this could be it-

He suddenly felt a harsh blow to his jaw, and staggered while he heard Travis laugh casually, as if he was at some dinner-gathering; in a sudden fit, Andy lashed out with his left arm, not looking but feeling resistance at the end of his blade, and he yanked back blindly. He heard Travis' laugh descend into a wet choking sound, and then his ears registered the strangest thing of all.

It was Beckett shrieking in misery.

He fell back as Beckett shoved him away; and stared as the great vampire knelt beside Travis, who was lying on the dry ground: Andy's blade had run him straight through the heart. Travis gaped up at Beckett in shocked agony, and Beckett was still making that shrill panicked sound as Travis' body melted into dust.

*

Beckett closed his mouth, cutting off that eerie drilling sound he had been making, his hands clenching around the dusty remains. He stared up slowly at the human that had killed _his_ Travis, and even _he_ did not know how he did it, for one moment he was on his knees, and the next, he was standing right in front of the swordsman. He was travelling at such a speed that the sword-bearer seemed to be moving slowly through water, and William grabbed him by the shoulders and bit him in the neck.


	10. A Little Less Rivalry (A Little More Kill Me)

All of Greta's life had boiled down now to the fire and sweat and smoke, to desperation and sheer hate. Brendon had been strong, but she had been trained by one of the very best, and she had finally managed to skewer him much the way her mother used to skewer shish kabobs for the barbecue grille.

When her mother had been alive, of course. And human. Of course.

They were making very little headway, though. Everytime she seemed to dispatch one, there were two more vampires snarling at her, dragging at her hair, tearing at her skin. She was getting tired, they _all_ were, this seemed to be going on for hours, and out of the corner of her eye she could see Joe simply fling down his jammed weapon, and wade into the fray, fists swinging.

They were going to die. All of them, and the sudden bleak feeling left her feeling jagged and tired. There was a flashpoint of blue to her right, and a vampire that had been ready to throttle her from behind was twisted into one of Patrick's slim tornados. She staggered back towards the wide patio of the house, vaguely musing that once upon a time, some farming couple had sat on those very same wooden chairs, living a lovely fragrant evening and sipped some coffee. Now there was only Patrick standing there, catching awkwardly at her limp form.

A sudden high-pitched sound sliced through the battlesounds, a shrill wail that drilled into Greta's ears, and caused her to wince. She craned her head around, breathing harshly, her cheek pressed against Patrick's sturdy chest, but she couldn't see so well; her eyes were full of dust. A strange hush seemed to fall over the whole bloody party, still and uncertain, and then the keening sound was cut off as abruptly as it began.

Then Patrick jumped.

"No.. _no_ ," he was whispering, his voice breathless despair, and Greta felt him start to shiver, pulling hurriedly away from her.

"Don't leave me," she murmured against his struggles. "Please, Patrick. I can't stand...please don't leave me."

Patrick went still, and held her tightly, still shaking. A yellow ball of energy flickered into existence beside him, small and placid, and Greta eyed it, wondering what it could do.

*

Joe was going all fists, his favourite. Another Hunter was beside him, gaily jabbing at the each vampire that Joe flung in his direction. As far as possible, Joe was having _fun_. If he was going to go down, he was going to bring as much of these fuckers as he could. He spun on his heel, and saw Andy getting a punch in the face from Travis, and he slugged his way toward his friend, but not before he saw Andy flash his hand up and jab viciously, and Travis went down.

Everyone went still when Beckett shrieked.

"Oh, fuck. _Fuck_ ," Joe said, when Beckett was suddenly at Andy's neck, biting brutally. Andy cried out and struggled, but Beckett held on tight, and vampires surrounded him, beating back frantic Hunters.

*

"Well. _Now_ I remember this," Pete was saying in a sort of dry bemusement, as all of Andy's mindscape went into a sort of deserted wind-howl, and there seemed to be a large pulsing light nearby them, a shivery blue. He was being pulled into that light, feeling as if he was being slowly _peeled_ , reeled off in layers, and he saw Pete standing on what seemed to be a round flat stone, facing him; Andy reached out to him, grasping onto his arm.

"What's going on?" He said in a voice that was too low, but Pete seemed to understand, even though the screeching of the wind increased in pitch and volume.

"We're dying. At least, _you're_ dying, and I'm dying _again_." Pete's voice seemed to be darkly amused, and Andy felt himself being pulled even harder. "I think right about _here_ , Patrick took a piece of me back. But, it's two of us-"

Andy's grip was slipping and Pete clamped a hand onto his and held on. Andy felt lethargic and accomodating, as if he would give that nearby light leeway to do anything it wanted. The pulling sensation got even stronger, and he heard a bizarre thing.

Pete was laughing. Much the way he used to laugh, before he was bitten, sly and happy at the same time, careless and carefree, and Andy felt him tug and pull back, until Andy was standing next to him on the flat-stone; the pulling sensation lessened significantly, but didn't go away. Pete patted him on the back comfortingly, and Andy suddenly felt like hugging him, but refrained.

"Remember what I told you? About Patrick?" Pete was saying lightly, stepping off the stone. Immediately, Pete began to slide back and the yanking feeling on Andy went away completely. "Don't forget."

"What?!" Andy yelled, grabbing after him but Pete shook his head and twisted out of his grasp, smiling.

Right before it all went black, Pete slid into the light.

*

Beckett released the Swordsman's body, and it fell to the ground in a boneless heap. He had felt life slip by his teeth, and triumphantly his eyes flashed up the patio, where the Charmer was holding onto someone. He walked serenely past the line of his vampires, and stood uncontested before the smaller man on the homely patio, looking up at him from the ground.

"Your Pete," Beckett started conversationally, "is finally gone."

The Charmer seemed to slump into himself, gripping onto a female Hunter, both vulnerable, but Beckett made no move towards him. Not yet.

"And your Swordsman. He belongs to me now. You were too late to save him the way you saved your Pete," Beckett continued in the same patient voice, showing his blood-stained teeth in a fearsome grin. The Charmer was looking back at him, eyes lackluster, and the sounds of fighting starting up behind them didn't seem to penetrate this space of defeat and dread. Beckett could smell it, and then it was mixed with something else: determination. Beckett sneered, and even the small ball of energy floating beside the Charmer seemed to shudder.

"Do you think you can defeat me? You and your little yellow charm," Beckett mocked. "For taking Travis, I will show you what real destruction is."

"Alright," The Charmer said slowly. "Let me go first, though."

The small yellow ball shot past Beckett and went to hover high over the skirmishes. Beckett watched it go with a sudden frown of consternation.

"What is it, Patrick?" He heard the female Hunter ask weakly, and he saw that terrible answer being broadcast in the mind of the Charmer; Beckett lounged up the steps after him, trying to take him down before he could activate the charm.

"It's light, Greta," The Charmer answered simply, turning his face and holding her tightly and Beckett shrieked again, moving quickly and far too slow as the charm exploded disastrously, shockwaves of sound and blinding radiance tearing across the dark brush, a sudden dawn. "The light of the sun."

*

Out of the twenty-two Hunters that survived the attack of the vampires, nearly all of them suffered from a severe form of sunburn. Patrick himself was in constant jarring pain as he put his cat's-cradles to work, slowly healing blisters and smoothing crackled epidermis. He was good at it, but he wasn't his mother, and he still left slight scarring, thin faint lines of strangely scaly skin across the faces of those who hadn't had time to fling up their hands as the vampires howled to dust around them. Joe had been particularly hard to heal. He had been standing nearly right underneath the charm; Greta and Patrick fought for one long night to simply keep him alive.

And Andy... Andy was also burnt badly, but he was still here, more or less. As they put him in Pete's old strong-box (Pete had refused a coffin), they watched as his skin began to heal by itself, the self-regeneration of a vampire, and they waited.

He awoke three days later.


	11. A Little Less Rivalry (A Little More Kill Me)

Andy snapped awake to a darkness so complete that it pressed against his eyeballs almost painfully. He inhaled deeply, in total disorientation, and he was hungry. This hunger seemed to spike through his veins and shimmer with every flicker of his eyelids against the absorbing black of his surroundings.

He reached forward and his palms pressed against something smooth and chilly, a wall, maybe. He pushed experimentally, but the flat smooth surface did not budge. He tapped on it with the knuckles of one hand, and it made a sharp, hollow sound. Almost immediately, he heard a responding tap. Andy paused, frowning in the dark. His memory was hazy, full of screams and sweat and dust, but he felt so aware. To his consternation, he found he was licking his lips. What the hell was he doing that for?

He tapped again, three imperious raps. There were three matching ones, then a shrill grating sound, and a sliver of light widened at his left, revealing Patrick's impassive face looking at him; or rather, looking down at him.

Andy suddenly felt an extreme form of vertigo as his brain readjusted his position: he was lying on his back. And then his memory supplied the many times he had seen Patrick pushing at the cover of Pete's strongbox in the center of the basement in the city warehouse, opening it at night so that Pete could stretch up and out of it, grinning slyly and maybe giving Patrick a kiss. So. They were home. Andy reached up and grabbed the edge of the cover, shoving slightly.

The lid flew and hit the wall with a weary crunch.

"Right," Patrick said dryly, stepping back. "Pete did that too."

Andy looked at him closely and suddenly wished he didn't. He could _smell_ Patrick, a smooth creamy scent, like vanilla ice-cream, mixed with a strangely sharp tang, and before he knew what he was doing, he had Patrick pinned against the opposite wall. There was a short cry behind him, but Patrick shook his head at whoever was standing there, before returning his gaze to Andy with an unsettlingly closed expression in his eyes. Andy leaned into him, pressing every inch of his body against Patrick, muttering something that he himself did not understand. His whole frame seemed to be throbbing painfully, and he really didn't care, looking at Patrick with heavy-lidded eyes.

"No, _stop_ ," Patrick said firmly and Andy knew he wasn't talking to _him_ , but to the male and female that were closing in behind Andy; Well: he could tell what they were and more-or-less where they standing. He knew that they were both nervous and worried; but Patrick wasn't. Patrick was looking at him now, that inscrutable look still intensely locked on his pale face, and the smell of him pulsated in waves over Andy; he took Patrick's face by the chin and tilted his head, staring with rapt attention at the calm pulse in Patrick's neck. "You can leave me with him. He won't hurt me." Andy could sense their wariness and worry reaching out to Patrick, and then the feelings became weak as they moved outside and the door slammed.

"Are you hungry, Andy?" Patrick asked softly, so still against the wall, palms pressed flat on either side of his body. Andy made a vague humming sound, running his hand down from Patrick's neck, over the round of his t-shirt clad shoulder and down his cool arm, before grasping lightly at his fingers. There was a pause, and then Patrick's fingers clenched softly in response. Yes, he was hungry, _starving_ , but somehow...somehow he was reining it all in.

"You can drink, if you want," Patrick said, as if they were having a light conversation. "You'll know when to stop."

Andy raised the hand he had held onto, turning and holding it until the inside of the wrist was exposed to him; he pulled it close to his nose, trying hard not to think about what he was _doing_ and what it _meant_. He licked a slow wet stripe from nearly the middle of Patrick's lower arm to the edge of his palm, his tongue running over strange ridges that seemed to sting at him; he pressed his mouth over the pulse, braced his other arm against the wall and with a slight thrill, felt his eyeteeth lengthen.

"How do you know," he murmured against the smell of Patrick's pulse, "that I won't hurt you?" He parted his lips and ran the dangerous points slowly against the skin, feeling it almost surrender to him, and closing his eyes against the heady rush that caused him to press his hips more against Patrick's. Patrick was taking shallow gasps, and almost unconciously arching back into Andy, as if he would like to pull him in.

"You would have by now."

Andy bit him.

He felt the flesh give beneath his teeth, and a sharp rush of that same sharp tangy smell cascaded into his mouth and he could almost taste vanilla ice-cream melting on his tongue. He drank, hearing Patrick's low moans literally vibrate through his whole body, and then he tasted something bitter in what he was pulling out of Patrick.

Something was telling him to back off, before it was too late.

He wrenched his mouth away from Patrick's wrist and stepped back from him, breathing sharply. Belately, he realised that Patrick was still bleeding, blood rushing in shocking crimson spurts down his arm, and he stepped back into him again, grabbing his hand and with a new unknown instinct, pressed his tongue flat against the puncture wounds. He licked again slowly, feeling a strange sensation waft out of him and sink into Patrick's skin, hastening the clotting and closing the punctures.

" _Jesus_ ," he muttered as he staggered back again, stepping until the back of his knees pressed against an old sofa Patrick would sleep in to watch over Pete. He sat down heavily and put his face in his hands.

He heard soft rustling sounds and suddenly Patrick was kneeling in front of him, holding a damped paper-towel that he had gotten from goodness knows where. His arm was now clear of blood, but Andy saw how reddened the flesh was at his wrist, and how he seemed to hold it gingerly. Patrick wiped at Andy's mouth with the towel.

"It's okay," Patrick said, his face open and relaxed. It appeared a little strange on him, because Andy had actually forgotten expressions like these. "You knew when to stop. I can't believe this...I _thought_ you'd still be in there. But I wasn't sure until today."

"What?" Andy croaked, but he was feeling much better than he sounded. He felt...bristling. Energetic.

"I think Pete allowed your soul to stay," Patrick said in a small slow voice, and Andy remembered Pete's final words.

"He wanted me to take care of you. I remember. Shit, Patrick, I'm a fucking _vampire_."

"Yeah," Patrick said, and Andy thought he had no right to sound so cheerful, not with Pete gone again. "Yeah, and you're still _Andy_. Win-win, right?"

Andy frowned at him heavily, but Patrick grinned. This grin had been in remission for too long, and he wore it rustily, but it was the same sunflash variety that everyone enjoyed. Andy felt vindicated. He ran his eyes slowly over the kneeling form, noticing the raised welts on his arms. Patrick looked down and then smiled back up.

"Some bad sunburn, man. It'll get better." His smile seemed to get more comfortable on his face, and he looked a million years younger. "Pete used to do this trick...used to tell how many people were nearby. I think he got it from Beckett, because most vampires couldn't do it. Do you think you could try?"

Andy had too many questions swirling around his head. Such as _Beckett, Travis, how comes I'm alive but not really, why are you looking at me like that_ , but this was Patrick asking, and he thought he would have the time to do what he asked. He kept his eyes open and fixed on Patrick's and frowned.

Nothing.

"How did he get that done?" Andy snapped. Patrick's face took on an amused sheen, and he sat beside Andy, resting his chin on the sharp shoulder. Andy fought down the urge to _bitesuck_ and he was aware that Patrick saw the compulsion flitting over his face like a banner; but he still sat close.

"Close your eyes." Patrick's breath smelt like mint, but Andy was sure he had a cheese-sandwich not very long ago. With some grape-juice. And _god_ , that vanilla smell. "Now just relax. I've seen him just breathe. In and out."

Andy obliged him, letting out one stubborn huff of air, and then inhaling again jerkily, his whole world filled with Patrick.

In. Still Patrick, his heartbeat thrumming secretively against Andy's ears. Out.

In. The two in the corridor, still waiting, apprehensive at the silence. Out.

In. Six asleep in the loft above. Five watching television. Out.

Four in the kitchen, drinking coffee. Three on the roof. One sleeping in the alley across the street. One walking hurriedly past that same alleyway.

None were vampires, as far as he could tell.

Oh shit.

Oh, _wow_.

"How far?" Patrick asked softly, his chin moving and digging into Andy's shoulder. Andy drew in that strange fan of awareness he had sent out, feeling slightly woozy, and he rubbed at his eyes before answering.

"Across the street. I think I could go further, but right now I feel weak."

"Want some more to drink?"

Andy pulled away from him so fast Patrick nearly fell off the sofa, and it was only Andy's hand flashing across his chest that stop him from falling to the floor. Andy was livid.

"Do you even know what the _fuck_ it is you're offering? Patrick, use your head. I'm a vampire now. A monster-"

"No, Andy," Patrick cut in, his face set close to Andy's and this alone was setting Andy's skin on fire. "You're not a monster." His hand was resting on Andy's shoulder now, right where his chin had been, and his head was tilted with a curious expression on his face, and he was moving in closer-

"I'm not Pete," Andy said suddenly, his mouth dry, the thirst rearing up in him as Patrick's pulse clamoured at his ears. He could fight it, he knew that, the human soul that remained would help out with that; but not with Patrick moving in on him like this. Not with Patrick's mouth so close.

"I know, I know." Patrick managed to sound a little annoyed, and his breath pressed against Andy's mouth. Andy leaned back into the sofa, not moving away as much as inviting Patrick closer, and Patrick followed, almost moulding into him, his eyes searching Andy's face.

"You used the sunlight charm, didn't you?" Andy stalled, but Patrick pressed his lips gently against the corner of Andy's mouth, mumuring _yes_. "So how did I survive?"

"You were the middle of turning. You weren't quite a vampire yet," and now he brushed his mouth across Andy's, reaching the other side of his mouth to kiss there. Andy felt his mind scatter, and the thirst grew stronger. This was not good.

"I'm _not_ Pete," he repeated faintly. "This isn't what you want."

"You need to stop saying that." Patrick moved back, and made a tiny smile. "I'm not that blind. I _know_ you're not Pete...and don't tell me about what I want."

A million retorts flitted through Andy's head, and he was desperately trying to chose which one to fling at Patrick, when he realised he was in the middle of kissing Patrick, and he didn't know when the fuck it happened. Patrick's glasses were gone, thank goodness, and the taste of Patrick's mouth filled his and he didn't know whether to despise his heightened senses or not, because it was almost too much, and at the same time, he couldn't get enough. He pushed Patrick back to lie down and draped himself over him, fighting to keep his teeth from sliding out and cutting Patrick's mouth. As it was, he thought he might be pressing too hard, but the way Patrick was moaning into his mouth, he thought maybe he wasn't doing so bad. He felt Patrick shift, their legs tangling together, hard against each other, and god, this was...this couldn't be happening.

Patrick was the one who broke the kiss, and turned his head, wordlessly offering. Maybe he was asking forgiveness for what he did before, but fuck that...that was done. Couldn't be helped now. Andy closed his eyes, trying to wipe out the image of that smooth neck, but he felt Patrick's hand at the back of his head, pulling him in, pressing in his face, and Andy inhaled the addictive _alive_ smell assaulting his nose.

"Not too much," he promised, sucking lightly to bring blood to the surface.

"I trust you," was all Patrick had to say, and then he was gasping as Andy bit him again. His body arched up into Andy's, undulating against him, his hand tightening in the back of Andy's neck, pulling painfully at the long hair trapped in between his fingers; Andy wondered faintly how much vanilla ice-cream Patrick ate to taste like that, and just before he stopped drinking, they were both coming, hard and fast, and if this was one of the perks to being a vampire, Andy thought he could live with it, figuratively speaking.

*

When Andy came to, he found Patrick lying too still beneath him, but he could hear his heartbeat echoing, steady but slow. He got up, grabbing the coverlet thrown over the back of the sofa, tucking Patrick in, and grimacing at the stickiness in his jeans. He would take care of that later, he thought as he wrenched open the door, and came face to face with Joe and Greta, sitting on the floor, their backs to the wall.

He wondered how his face looked as they stared up at him, but he wasn't a person who took kindly to gawking.

"Greta. Get up to the kitchen and find the box of glucose." Greta was scrambling up as he spoke, struggling to hide a smile. "Mix three tablespoons in a tall glass of water and bring it back. Make sure you wake Patrick to drink it."

As she walked up the stairs, he looked at Joe steadily, who was smirking at him. Andy shook his head, pursing his lips.

"Welcome back," Joe said laconically, getting up and without warning, hugged Andy tightly. "I was going to kill you, man, I'm _sorry_ , but Patrick told me to wait. He was right. You're still here."

"I'm still here," Andy agreed, and then suddenly felt like crying. "I'm still here."


	12. A Little Less Rivalry (A Little More Kill Me) [Epilogues]

_Epilogue 1_

There still were covens of vampires, none as strong as Beckett and Travis were, but still darkly sly. The coven in Louisiana was particularly awful, and that was where they nearly lost Greta, and Andy came to the awful realisation, so strong it was a _premonition_ , that one day, he would be the Last One Left.

He tried to express this to Patrick as they sat in the darkened car across from the estate that the vampire family owned, the large willow trees whispering to each other in the moonlight. Andy already picked up on the sixteen vampire guards, and he had dispatched the Hunters to take them out. Joe was the strategist, but everyone seemed to take orders without question from Andy, so he resigned himself to the post of Head Hunter; Patrick thought it was a funny name.

"One day, I'll be alone, without you guys. That's the fuckery about having a long lifespan. Everything leaves you behind, and you have to keep starting over."

Patrick tilted his head and looked at him appraisingly from the driver's seat.

"You could turn some of us. For company, you know."

Andy shook his head. They'd been over this, many times already, and he was simply not up to taking the chance. Pete had been a fluke, sort of, because Patrick had been desperate enough to want him to stay. As close as Andy and Patrick were, he knew he couldn't compete with what they had. It was a fact of life, like wind, or eventual death; to hear Greta talk, they had been the Great Love of this Epoch.

"I prefer you the way you are," he said flatly, feeling the vampires fall one after the other.

"Ditto," Patrick answered, and Andy could feel his smile in the dark.

 _fin._ * _Epilogue 2_ : [inspired by this comment from robjlea: _The future: Andy will find true love with Mikey the immortal, a la highlander, who helps perfect his sword swinging skills, remembers the mortals who Andy knew and remembers all the songs_.]

Andy thought he was good at a sword, but _fuck_ , this dude was good. Like he had been born with a sword in his teeth, or something. That didn't make any sense, but that was aside from the point.

"Get from behind there," the guy shouted out when he had dispatched with whomever he had been fighting (there was some sort of wicked awesome lightning storm when he sliced off his opponent's head, but none had hit Andy and a lucky thing too, because vampires were allergic to lightning. He had had a bad scare there for a minute or two.) Andy slunk out from behind the barrels that had been piled up here in the old warehouse, kicking at one as it overturned and rolled lazily toward him; it smashed into a wall and broke apart. The other guy, who was carefully cleaning his sword, looked at him quickly.

"You're not an immortal," he said in tones of aloof wariness, his dark hair cropped close and short, showing off high cheekbones and cool dark eyes. He began twirling his sword in his hand, and Andy pulled out his katanas out of the sling he kept on his back; the other dude looked almost joyful to fight with someone else.

"Not quite."

"Oho." He was still twirling, and then suddenly he was moving, his sword slicing through the air so solidly. It was a lucky thing Andy was twice as quick as he was, but even then, the guy managed to slice his favourite red shirt nearly to pieces against his skin. The guy pressed against him, sword to swords, thigh to thigh.

"You're fast. Tell me your name. And what you are."

"Andrew J. Hurley, master vampire, at your service." Andy gave a little mocking half-bow, not taking his eyes away. The guy pulled back suddenly, staring at Andy in amazement. He sheathed his sword and crossed his arms, looking at Andy from head to toe.

"Pete give you those swords?" The guy was _smiling_ as he motioned with his chin, white teeth against pale skin, almost as translucent as a bloodsucker himself, and if Andy wasn't already un-dead, his heart would have stopped in surprise.

"Yeah. Yeah, he did, how did you-"

"Pete got around. He didn't want to do anything to hurt...Patrick? Was that the name? Anyway. Sometimes he needed to bite something without destroying it." The dude shrugged eloquently. "And I guess I have a thing for being bitten."

Andy thought he might understand. He had wondered about Pete's few absences, not at the times when they most needed him, but enough to make Patrick sleepless with worry. The thought of Patrick stuck at him like a poisoned pin, and his mind shied away from the images of graves that were all he had left of his family.

"I'm Mikey," the guy was telling him, shaking him out of his reverie. That name was too cute for someone who could slice him to fine sushi if he made any mistakes.

"How's Pete?"

"Dead."

"Oh. Well. That's too bad." Mikey looked at him with deep speculation. "I don't suppose you have a thing for biting too?"

"I'm a vampire," Andy returned firmly. "That's _all_ I have a thing for."


End file.
